


blacklight neon

by iridescence (10softbot)



Category: Stray Kids (Band), The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Fucking, M/M, One Night Stands, Public Blow Jobs, Safe Sane and Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10softbot/pseuds/iridescence
Summary: He doesn’t want to look – he knows Pretty Boy is well aware that he had been staring, and Chan doesn’t think he can live with that embarrassment quite yet.But then Pretty Boy speaks, and Chan wants to bury his head on the ground in shame.“So,” he starts off casual, and from the corner of his eye, Chan can see him leaning back against the bar. “Were you gonna hit me up or did you plan on staring at me all night?”
Relationships: Bang Chan/Choi Chanhee | New
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	blacklight neon

**Author's Note:**

> today, i bring you riot and chaos. this is extremely niche and VERY self indulgent. wrote this in two days, read over for glaring typos but there are probably more i didn't catch. i just think they'd look Very Neat together
> 
> do not translate or repost without permission etc

Usually, Chan doesn’t give himself the luxury to relax once Friday night rolls around. It is difficult not to, especially when he has to watch all his friends and roommates filter out of campus one by one, leaving him all by himself with only the empty hallways to keep him company. But being constantly swamped with work, he knows it isn’t much of a choice than it is an obligation.

It is fine, though – it usually is. They leave him alone and he gets everything done; that’s how things usually go.

Tonight, however, Felix seems hellbent on getting him out of their room. Chan has been staring at his screen for about twenty minutes now, looking at the words on his essay but not making sense out of what any of them mean, with Felix running his mouth about this glow in the dark party that seems to be happening downtown in a couple hours. His intentions are very clear – with Changbin out of town for the weekend, he wants his other roommate to go with him to the club.

Chan shouldn’t say yes. He still needs to write another two thousand words into his paper and submit it by Sunday, and he _knows_ that going out with Felix means drinking, which then means extreme hungover the following day, leading to a wasted Saturday with both of them dead in their beds—or the bathroom floor, depending on how hard they feel like going at it.

He really shouldn’t say yes, and yet he finds himself sighing in defeat, closing his laptop before he looks at Felix dead in the eyes.

“Sometimes I wish you weren’t so cute,” Chan says, solemn, already regretting his ill-fated decision. “Maybe then I wouldn’t have a hard time telling you no.”

Felix’s lips curl into a smile, his eyes slitting into crescents when he laughs.

“I promise you won’t regret it,” Felix replies in earnest, and Chan can only hope he isn’t lying. “Like, for real though, when was the last time you had fun?”

Chan scoffs, feeling slightly offended, but he can’t even refute the argument. It _has_ been a while, he knows that, everyone reminds him of that, but he can hardly do a thing about it. Tonight, though, he will allow Felix to drag him out of campus for once, and maybe he will be reminded what it feels like to let go and have fun.

Felix grabs a white shirt from his own wardrobe and throws it at him, under the claims that he can’t possibly go to a glow in the dark party dressed in all black, and even if Chan wants to say no and give it back to him, he still pulls the garment over his head. Chan tries not to be weird about the smell of Felix’s cologne on his clothes – he would never admit out loud to being mildly addicted to it.

Just because they fuck sometimes doesn’t mean they are anything more than just casual friends with benefits. Tonight isn’t about this – it isn’t about them, he thinks. At least not until they are back into their room, drunk and with the place all to themselves.

Then they will see where everything goes, he supposes.

But with all the extra energy and the bounce in his step, Chan knows Felix just wants to have fun tonight. With him, with their friends, with other people. It is that thought that pushes him out the door the second they are ready – to just allow himself to have fun for the night, however the night sees fit for him.

Chan almost doesn’t want to hop off their Uber when it pulls up at the club. The sidewalk is crowded, ridiculously so, but Felix pulls him off the car by the wrist before he can even tell the driver to turn around and make their way back to campus. Instead of making their way all the way to the back of the line, Felix pulls him towards a small group of people hanging somewhere in the middle – Chan is quick to recognize Hyunjin’s taller frame and longer hair, bleach blond and tied into a messy bun.

Jisung, glued to Hyunjin’s hip as he always is, chats up a group of people Chan doesn’t know, and almost doesn’t greet them when Felix throws himself in between the two, throwing him off balance.

“Thanks for saving our spot,” Felix says over the sound of the booming music, and it is only then that their friends turn around to look at him.

The look of sheer shock on Hyunjin’s face is almost comical, and Chan can’t help but laugh at him.

“Yes, it’s me,” he says as he squeezes himself into the line, trying not to mind the clear complaints of the people behind them. “Don’t look so surprised, you wound me.”

They easily fall back into conversation as they wait for the line to move; Chan knows it is going to take a while, seeing as the promoters are making their rounds with neon paint to smear on their faces before anyone so much as steps into the club. He is grateful that at least half of the people in their circle are in the arts department, because at least he knows he won’t be going in looking like a clown.

Felix’s fingers are delicate on his face as he paints him, following the directions of a black-haired boy that looks like a cat _– Kevin? He can’t remember his name –_ on where to put what colors, Felix’s giggles as he finishes his artwork making the tips of his fingers tingle and his ears go slightly red. When Felix steps back to admire his work, Chan strikes a mocking pose, pulling a proper laugh from him.

“How do I look?” Chan asks, holding his pose for a while longer, watching in delight as Felix doubles over with laughter.

“You look great,” Felix holds his hand up in an okay sign, his smile so bright and genuine Chan doesn’t even mind if he actually looks ridiculous or not. “Can get anyone you want tonight.”

He feels his face burn at the comment, though he can’t even lie that it is a good boost to his ego. Chan trusts Felix’s taste in people – has been, on one too many occasions, a target for his blind hookup setups, and not once has Felix disappointed him in the people he chose for him.

“Come, let me do yours,” black-haired-boy-he-thinks-is-called-Kevin says softly, spinning him away from Chan for a while. “You know Chanhee is gonna kill all of us for leaving him waiting inside.”

Once everyone’s got their faces and shirts painted neon, it is only a matter of seconds until they are being rushed inside. The music is as loud as one would expect from a club, making the walls and the ground shake under their feet and their hearts beat to the addicting staccato rhythm.

Chan feels hyped before they even get to the bar, Jisung not far behind as he calls for a bartender to order their drinks, barely still on his feet. The people that had been with them part ways momentarily, flocking to the opposite end of the bar and crowding around a boy who looks like he has been standing there by himself for far too long.

Jisung orders them a round of tequila, as he always does, urging them to tip it back before getting another one. It always feels like liquid fire going down his throat, especially so when Jisung doesn’t even give them enough time to do the full tequila shot ritual. He can feel his toes curl in his shoes from the feeling, and he bursts into laughter when Hyunjin bumps into him, his distaste for the distilled drink clear on his face.

Chan orders a soju and beer combo for himself, well aware that the mixing of drinks ought to kill him in the morning but still willing to give death a shot for the night. Things are a blur from then on – his friends drag him to the dance floor, to where their other friends seem to gather, getting lost to the music and each other.

It is then that Chan sees _him._ He feels he is being a bit dramatic if he says it this way, but he also thinks he can’t really lie to himself when he says he lays his eyes on one of the prettiest boys he has ever seen. He takes a swing from his glass, trying not to pull a face as the mixed beverages settle in his stomach while also trying to pull his gaze away.

He doesn’t mean to stare, he really doesn’t, but at the same time, it doesn’t seem like he can help it. He tries turning away and towards Felix, tries dancing along with him, but Felix doesn’t catch on what his mission is and moves around so much Chan is left facing the boy again. He can’t even complain about it to him without making himself obvious – which, in turn, makes his staring really fucking obvious.

Hyunjin presses himself back to back against him, his head falling on Chan’s shoulder as they dance, and Chan doesn’t have to look back to know Jisung is pressed up against him. Chan feels like he is suffocating – he wants to look away, wants to move away, but his friends make it impossible to. Taking another swing from his cup, he quickly excuses himself and makes a beeline back to the bar for a refill.

Here, away from the dance floor, Chan feels safe. He breathes a sigh of relief, taking a much more collected sip from his brand new drink before he turns around to assess the situation.

And then his heart stops beating, his throat closes, and he rather ungracefully chokes on his drink.

Pretty Boy is standing right behind him, a fierce glint in his eyes as he stares right at him. Chan turns again to cough, feeling the alcohol burning both up his nose and down his throat, his face flaring up when the boy slides up beside him at the bar to get himself another drink. He doesn’t want to look – he knows Pretty Boy is well aware that he had been staring, and Chan doesn’t think he can live with that embarrassment quite yet.

But then Pretty Boy speaks, and Chan wants to bury his head on the ground in shame.

“So,” he starts off casual, and from the corner of his eye, Chan can see him leaning back against the bar. “Were you gonna hit me up or did you plan on staring at me all night?”

Chan laughs, the high-pitched laugh he lets out when he is embarrassed, knocking his drink back almost entirely before turning to face him. He tries to shake off the embarrassment, leans against the bar and tries to keep his cool.

“I don’t know,” he says, trying to sound smug but likely sounding ridiculous in his attempt, “did you want me to hit you up?”

The glowing paint on Pretty Boy’s face looks just as beautiful as him, too intricate to have been done by clumsy hands, and Chan can’t help but to stare yet again. Pretty Boy laughs – a sound that is melodic even over the booming music, his teeth flashing so white and pretty Chan almost feels like he is being pulled into a trance.

“Didn’t peg you for a coward,” Pretty Boy says with a raise of his brow, and Chan has to make actual effort to stop his mouth from blurting out something really stupid and inappropriate. “You’re friends with Felix, right?”

Chan nods, his eyes quickly flitting to the dance floor then back at him. “We’re roommates.”

Pretty Boy’s mouth rounds into an ‘o’ shape as he nods. “I room with Kevin,” he says, and when Chan’s face remains blank, he adds, “looks like a cat? Black hair? Looks really good?”

So he had been right about black-haired-boy-he-thinks-is-called-Kevin.

“I’m Chanhee,” Pretty boy says, offering him a smile.

“Chan,” he offers back, taking one last sip on his drink. “Wanna dance?”

Chanhee easily follows his lead, and this time, when they squeeze themselves between their friends, Chanhee presses himself against him. The music is loud enough to stop them from holding any sort of proper conversation, but not loud enough to drown out the yelling of their friends when Chanhee slides his hands under his shirt and starts grinding against him.

This time, when Chan feels his face and neck warming up, it's not out of embarrassment. Chanhee's hands are warm against his skin, his breath warm on his face when Chan tilts his head up to properly look at him. It only takes them a split second – a split second for their eyes to meet, for them to lean in and meet halfway in a kiss.

Chan braces himself with strong hands on Chanhee's waist, and he can’t stop his mind from reeling at just how fucking tiny it is. He tightens his grip, pulls him closer and gasps into the kiss, and Chanhee takes the opportunity to lick his way into his mouth. It almost feels like too much to process, the way Chanhee's tongue glides against him, the way he kisses so good Chan feels like he is being plunged into another dimension.

Chanhee's hands slide down from his waist to his ass, fingers digging into his flesh and groping him so hard Chan feels terribly embarrassed when a tiny moan escapes his lips. Chanhee pulls back from the kiss, staring him down with glazed eyes and reality almost comes crashing down on him on how stupid he had been just now.

That is, until Chanhee curses under his breath.

“Fuck,” he repeats, pressing his spit-slick lips to Chan’s neck, softly nibbling on the skin. “Should we—”

If Chan is reading the situation even remotely right despite the alcoholic fog in his brain, Chanhee doesn’t have to finish his question. Chan nods, perhaps too enthusiastically so, and Chanhee is quick to drag him towards the general bathroom direction.

He doesn’t meet eyes with the guy sitting by the bathroom door, but he still sees the scowl that appears on the guy’s face when Chanhee drags them all the way to the back of the bathroom. He pushes Chan against the last stall unceremoniously, making the both of them stumble into the cubicle and nearly causing Chan to fall on the toilet’s closed lid.

Chanhee's hands are urgent on the front of his shirt, pulling him until he is crashing against his chest and his lips meet in a messy kiss once again. Chan traps Chanhee against the door, his hands going for his waist again, down to his hips and his ass, kneading on the flesh when Chanhee gasps into his mouth. Chanhee brings a leg up to hook it around his waist, pulling him impossibly close, making their crotches rub against each other.

But then Chanhee presses a heavy hand on his shoulder, pulling back from the kiss, smirking down at him when Chan tries to chase his lips.

“Come on, pretty boy,” Chanhee's voice is rough from kissing, his lips bitten red and slick with spit. “On your knees.”

And if the whiplash of having Chanhee calling _him_ a pretty boy instead of the other way around wasn’t enough, his brain comes to a screeching halt at the request. Not a request – a command, really, that Chan finds himself obliging to far too easily.

Chan almost doesn’t mind that he’s got his jeans on piss-stained floors, his hands sliding from Chanhee's ass to the front of his jeans, fingers quickly working on the buckle of his belt, then the button and zipper of his pants. Chanhee brings his hand from his shoulder up to his hair, fingers threading through his long, bleached locks – for once, Chan feels grateful he didn’t go out to get a haircut when he promised himself he would _weeks_ ago.

Chan looks up at Chanhee, only briefly so, afraid that if he looks at him for too long his cock is going to actually bust the zipper of his own pants.

“I’m assuming you got a condom on you?” he asks, feeling almost breathless with the way Chanhee looks down at him. He looks nothing short of sinful, and Chan wonders how he got lucky enough to be in this very position tonight.

“Do you not?” Chanhee asks with a raise of his brow, reaching into the front pocket of his pants as he does. He tsks, shoving the foiled packet in his face. “Shame on you.”

Chan snorts a laugh, taking the condom from him. “I do, actually,” he says, and it’s not a lie, “but it doesn’t hurt to ask. I’m not an idiot.”

“Well,” Chanhee says, lightly patting his cheeks, “get those pretty lips of yours working, then.”

He feels like he should be embarrassed at how quickly he complies, but he figures there is no room for it when he’s already on his knees in front of one of the prettiest men he has ever seen. Chan reaches into his underwear and pulls his cock out, his mouth watering at the sight and the feel of how hard Chanhee already is for him.

Were this anyone else – had they known each other for longer than thirty minutes, Chan would likely coo at him, tease him a little, but as it is now, he feels that Chanhee will verbally humiliate him if he so much as opens his mouth to say anything. And, truthfully, he doesn’t need the extra help to get even more turned on than he already is.

He strokes Chanhee into full hardness before ripping the condom open and rolling it on his dick, spitting on the latex-covered tip and spreading it with lazy pumps of his fist. He looks up just in time to see Chanhee's head tilt back and hit the metal door behind him, his grasp loose on his hair as he scrapes his nails against his scalp ever so gently.

Chan holds him steady, licks from the base to the tip of his cock, and that is enough to make Chanhee shake through a silent moan and his fingers tighten his hold in his hair. Chan hums, the pleasant sting on his scalp sending waves to his dick, making it strain even harder in the confines of his pants. He swirls his tongue around the head, glances up at Chanhee again, and when Chanhee's jaw goes slack right before he moans again, Chan flutters his eyes shut and closes his lips around him.

He swirls his tongue again, hollows his cheeks as he suckles on the tip of Chanhee's cock, humming when Chanhee tugs on his hair slightly harder. There is no precision to it, no finesse in the way he messily bobs his head and allows spit to dribble from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, nothing more than the raw need to get Chanhee off in the dirty bathroom of their local club.

And Chanhee seems to like it that way, his hips twitching every time Chan slides all the way down and his lips stretch around the base of his cock, every time he hums around him and drags his tongue flat against the underside. This time, Chan feels like he is suffocating for different but right reasons, pleasure zipping down his spine and making the coiling in his stomach tighten, though he knows this isn’t nearly enough to make him come untouched in his pants.

Still, he focuses his work on Chanhee's cock, working his fist around the base every time he pulls his head back or away to catch his breath. He wonders how he looks right now – Felix had once told him, in a ridiculously drunken state, that he looks pretty when he’s got his lips wrapped around a dick, and Chan now wonders if Chanhee thinks the same.

“Fuck,” Chanhee curses again, holding his head still and lazily fucking into his mouth. “Has anyone ever told you that you got really pretty lips?”

Chan can’t really answer around a mouthful of cock, so he opts for humming instead, which makes Chanhee fuck harder into his mouth. It catches him off guard and makes him gag, even if just slightly, and the fresh curse that rolls off Chanhee's tongue when his throat closes around his cockhead almost makes him cry.

Chanhee steadies the snapping of his hips as best as he can, fucking into his mouth when Chan allows his jaw to go slack. Chan curls his hands around the back of Chanhee's thighs, pushing him forward with every thrust, sending his cock further into his mouth, making it harder for him to breathe.

Chan knows the telltale of when someone is coming; when Chanhee loses his rhythm and the snapping of his hips become sloppy, his grasp on his hair almost pulling a handful of strands off his scalp, Chan brings a hand to the base of Chanhee's dick and holds him steady, hollowing his cheeks as hard as he can, humming in pleasure when he feels Chanhee shoot warm inside the condom.

He only pulls back when he feels Chanhee's cock stop twitching in his mouth, pulling the condom along and swiftly tying a knot on the end before tossing it inside the bin.

“Shit,” Chanhee breathes out, tucking himself back in his pants, frantically tapping Chan on the shoulder and motioning for him to get up. “Come here.”

Chan obliges, feeling dizzy to be back on his feet again, his dick now rock solid in his pants and likely staining a wet patch on the fabric. Chanhee pulls him into a kiss that is more tongue than lips, desperate in every way one could ever think of. Chan kisses him back with just as much eagerness, though still trying to keep his hips from pressing against him.

“Let me take care of this for you,” Chanhee breathes into his mouth, his fingers hooking into the belt loops of his pants in an attempt to pull him closer.

Chan pauses, pulls away from the kiss to look at him. He considers his options for a second, and decides he’s got nothing to lose if he goes for it.

“Let me take you home tonight,” he tries, his brain so fuzzy and cloudy but somehow still clear as daylight.

He can see something flash in Chanhee's eyes – hesitance, maybe, but it is gone as quickly as it came.

“Mine,” is what Chanhee answers, and Chan feels his heart almost leap inside his ribcage. “Tell Felix to bring Kevin back to yours. I’m sure they’re gonna end up fucking tonight, anyway.”

Chan quickly fishes out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, texting Felix a simple _take Kevin to ours_ before pocketing it again, kissing Chanhee one more time before they stumble out of the cramped stall.

The guy that had been by the door is now nowhere to be seen, and Chanhee giggles as he stumbles after Chan all the way to the exit of the club. He should do better than this – he should at least warn his friends that he is leaving without them, but Chanhee already got his phone in his hands with the request for an Uber open, so he figures a text on his way back to campus should suffice for the night.

He does send out his texts the moment they hop into the backseat of their ride, both to their group chat with everyone and individually to the ones that had been with him at the club. Chanhee seems to try to do the same, clearly struggling to focus his sight on the tiny ass letters of the keyboard right in front of him – ultimately, he sends a string of voice messages to about six different people, letting them know he is on his way back to his room, and calls it a night.

“Tell me, big guy,” Chanhee slurs on his words as he kicks his dorm room closed, not bothering to flip the switch on. Chan thinks it’s pretty ironic that Chanhee is calling _him_ a big guy, considering the inches he clearly got on him. “When was the last time someone took good care of you?”

Chan feels his face burn at the question. He couldn’t answer it if he tried – he isn’t even sure he fully understands the full scope of Chanhee's question. So, he keeps silent instead, watching as Chanhee tugs his own shirt over his head and starts undoing the buckle of his belt for the second time that night.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Chanhee teases, shimming out of his pants. Chan can’t tear his eyes away from his slender legs and the way he almost seems to glow in the dark, even without the club’s blacklight on. “Are you gonna tell me no one’s fucked you good before?”

The question hits him like a fucking speed train, knocking him off his feet and leaving him standing in the middle of the room completely dumbfounded. Chanhee laughs, in clear disbelief this time even though Chan didn’t even answer his question; he steps closer, running his hands delicately over his shoulders and leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Want me to do the honors?” his breath is hot against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine, and when Chanhee pulls back to look at him again, there is clear mischief but certain intent in his eyes.

Chanhee makes quick work of stripping him of his clothes, his lips hot when he presses them to the exposed skin of his neck, his shoulder, his chest. He pushes him back with urgent hands, back until Chan’s calves hit a wooden bedframe and he falls back onto the mattress, gasping in surprise as he does so. Chanhee climbs on top of him, cages his hips with his knees and Chan’s hands come up to hold him by the waist on reflex, fingers slightly shaking when their dicks rub together.

“You know I’m not joking, right?” Chanhee says as he bends down to kiss the corner of his lips, body hot like a fucking furnace against him. “But I’ll need you to say yes if you want it.”

“Yeah,” Chan replies too quickly, voice rough, almost breathless. He can feel Chanhee's bed swimming under his back, his head spinning, his heart beating too fast in his ribcage. He digs his fingers harder into him when Chanhee rolls his hips again, the familiar numbing of his toes hitting him all too fast. “Don’t do that if you don’t want me to come right this second.”

Chanhee laughs again, and Chan should maybe be alarmed at how fond he is growing of the sound of his laugh already. He knows this will be bad in the long run.

“Alright,” he says, pulling back and climbing off him. “Turn around then, hot stuff.”

Chan can feel his mind reeling when he turns on his stomach, losing count of the amount of nicknames Chanhee has already called him since introducing himself. Chanhee is rough when he pulls the pillow from under his head and shoves it between his hips and the mattress, but his hands are anything but when he runs them down the expanse of his back, over the slope of his ass, down to where it meets his thighs.

He can feel a shiver run through his body when Chanhee clambers over him and presses a kiss to his shoulder, then another, mapping his skin with his lips as he reaches for his bedside table. Chan’s stomach flips when Chanhee drops a strip of condoms and lube right next to his head, and feels the back of his head heating up when Chanhee starts kissing his way down his spine.

He tries to hold himself back from moaning when Chanhee's teeth scrape over his ass cheek and the noise ends up coming out completely strangled, pulling a breathy laugh from Chanhee, Chanhee's breath warm where it fans against his skin. Without the pillow under his arms, Chan twists the bedsheets in his hold when Chanhee spreads his legs wider, letting out a pleased hum when Chan follows his lead.

“You seem almost too eager for this,” Chanhee says as he reaches for the bottle of lube, his tone teasing but not quite. Chan heavily exhales when he hears the bottle uncapping, his chest shaking as he does so. “I could’ve sworn you wanted to fuck me tonight.”

“I did,” Chan answers, trying to focus on his words instead of the way Chanhee moves behind his back, between his spread legs. “But I don’t mind—this.”

Chanhee hums, spreading his cheeks apart with one hand, circling his rim with lubed-up fingers with the other.

“That’s nice,” Chanhee says, casual, and before Chan can fully register his words, he presses a slick finger in. Chan moans, low and into the mattress, and his head spins even harder when Chanhee just keeps on talking like this is casual banter and he doesn’t have a finger up his ass. “Beefy men are usually so hard to bend over.”

And Chan is so lost in his head he can’t remember what words are or how to use them, the slow slide of Chanhee's finger as he preps him making him feel better than he’d expected. It has been a while since he’s done it like this – since anyone has wanted to fuck him instead of the other way around, and while he usually doesn’t mind, when Chanhee presses a second finger in and stretches him even further, he understands why.

His moans almost sound like mewls, low and embarrassing and he wishes he could swallow them all. Two fingers turn into three and Chanhee climbs on top of him again, his cock pressed against his ass when he bends down to kiss his shoulder again. The kiss is sloppier this time around, coats his skin with a layer of saliva that Chan doesn’t really mind, not when Chanhee starts rocking his hips at the same pace of his hand.

Chan can feel his cock twitch as it rubs raw against the sheets, pressed between his body and the bed. He wishes he could reach down and stroke himself to completion, the buildup of his orgasm already too much for it to be comfortable. He doesn’t, though, and Chanhee is soon pulling his fingers off, cleaning them on the side of his thigh before reaching for the condoms and tearing one off the strip.

And Chan almost blacks out, honestly, when Chanhee presses the tip of his cock against his rim and pushes in, the pressure leaving him breathless as Chanhee pushes and pushes and _pushes,_ until he is balls deep and his bony hips dig into his ass. Chan curses, loud and unrestrained, making Chanhee breathe out what is definitely supposed to be a laugh but comes out as a moan.

Chanhee stills, giving Chan enough time to adjust to the size of his cock. He presses himself against Chan’s back, resting his forehead between his shoulder blades as he pants; the effort to keep himself from moving is clear, and Chan feels grateful for it. Chan reaches back, threads his fingers through Chanhee's hair when Chanhee starts mouthing at his skin for what feels like the millionth time that night, willing his muscles to relax and stop clenching around him.

Chanhee kisses from his back to his shoulder and up his neck, kisses the back of his ear before bringing his earlobe between his teeth, tugging on the sensitive skin just slightly.

“Can I pull on your hair?” Chanhee's voice is sultry when he speaks, breath hot against his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Chan moans, breathes out a, _“yes, fuck,”_ that sounds more broken than he would’ve liked, and it is only a matter of seconds before Chanhee is pushing himself off his back and tangling his fingers into his hair. And when he tugs, pulling Chan’s head so far back Chan can almost see him upside down, Chan swears he sees stars before his eyes.

The pace in which Chanhee works his hips is slow at first, like he is being careful with Chan so he can adjust well, his free hand curling into Chan’s hip to steady himself. Chan wishes he could feel even slight embarrassment of being held like this, but reality is—he doesn’t. The glide of Chanhee's cock against his walls feels good, so fucking good, and he makes sure to vocalize as much.

Chanhee almost seems to preen under the noises he makes, under every tiny moan that comes out of his mouth, stirring him to snap his hips just a little bit faster, just a little bit harder. Chan arches his back, barely so, and the new angle makes Chanhee's cock slide deeper into him, brushing his prostate just right.

Chanhee must know, if the loud moan that Chan lets out and the way his fingers curl into the bedsheets is anything to go by. He snaps his hips harder and picks up his pace, tugs on his hair until Chan is hissing from the sting but never letting off. Chan can almost feel his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his heart beating so hard in his chest his mildly drunken brain is sure it is going to shatter his ribcage to pieces.

And then he doesn’t wait anymore; Chan slides his hand between his body and the mattress, wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock and tugging on it roughly in the limited space he has to move. He can feel electricity zip down his spine and spread to his toes, feels it coming all the way back up and straight to his cock.

He doesn’t know how much of a mess he looks like but he figures it must be a lot, considering the way Chanhee quickly pulls out and rolls him on his back so they are facing each other again. Chanhee looks divine even like this – with his bangs sweaty and sticking to his forehead, with the neon paint now smeared all over his face, with fire in his eyes when he presses his cock back in and bends down to slot their lips in a messy kiss.

Chanhee is the one who moans this time, right into his mouth when he pushes one of Chan’s leg up to balance himself, his other hand coming down to wrap around his dick. Chan feels his orgasm building up at an alarming rate – maybe it’s the mismatched pace of Chanhee's fucking and the flicking of his wrist, combined with the sloppy way he desperately kisses him, but judging from the way Chanhee's hips stutter with every other thrust, Chan knows he won’t be taking long to come either.

Chan wraps his hand around Chanhee's and helps Chanhee jerk him off, the added pressure of his hand around his cock making his vision spot white when he shuts his eyes closed. His moans come out in curses, curses that Chanhee drink into his mouth and uses as fuel to fuck him harder, harder, _harder._

“Oh, my god,” Chan moans way too loudly, finding purchase on Chanhee's back, his nails raking over his skin. He can feel his muscles tense as the coiling in his stomach tightens and then snaps, throwing his head back as he comes into Chanhee's hand and over his stomach, his entire body shaking in pleasure.

Chanhee comes shortly after, shooting warm into the condom as Chan clenches hard around his cock. Chanhee doesn’t stop fucking into him until they both stop coming, until Chan’s body is no longer spasming with the force of his orgasm and he is able to open his eyes again. He can feel Chanhee wanting to collapse on top of him but he doesn’t; instead, he carefully pulls out, holding the condom in place as he walks over to the bin by his desk.

Chan watches through cloudy eyes as Chanhee tosses the condom out and makes his way to the bathroom. He can hear the sound of running water, can hear Chanhee rummaging through the cabinets in the bathroom, but before he walks back into the room, Chan’s heavy lids slip shut and he unwillingly succumbs to sleep.

When he comes to it again, it is the early hours of Saturday morning. The sun is already out and Chan can feel his head pounding from a headache, his stomach flipping unpleasantly with nausea as he sits up in Chanhee's bed.

He finds himself with at least his underwear back on and the bed stripped from the sheets, the pillowcase pulled off but forgotten by the foot of the bed. Trying to look away from the glaring sunlight, Chan turns to the side and finds Chanhee sprawled across Kevin’s bed, the upper half of his body nearly dangling off the edge.

The trash bin has been relocated from its position by the desk and now sits neatly right next to Chanhee's head, and Chan would’ve laughed at him if he didn’t think he would vomit all over Chanhee's bed if he did.

Chan gets on his feet with wobbly knees, trying to bend down as little as humanly possible as he collects his clothes from the previous night and slips them back on. Chanhee stirs awake – either from the noise or from the nausea, and gives him the nastiest glare he can manage.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to fuck and fleet,” Chanhee groans, rolling on his stomach so his mouth is positioned over the bin’s opening, clearly feeling as terrible as Chan feels.

“I just don’t wanna barf all over your room,” he reasons, doing the zipper and button of his pants. “I’d rather clean my own floor than someone else’s.”

Chanhee raises a finger like he is asking for a moment, and Chan has to look away when his entire body curls up like he is about to vomit. He doesn’t, and Chan feels extremely glad, because he knows the chances of him being able to hold himself back would have been reduced to zero.

“Touché,” Chanhee says with a groan, rolling back onto his back.

“I’ll come pick you up for food once we’re feeling human again?” he offers.

Chanhee nods but waves him off, like he’s rushing him out. “Go. Drink water. If you walk in on Kevin naked, tell him he looks good.”

Chan laughs, making his way to the door. “I am definitely not going to do that.”

They bid their goodbyes and Chan starts making his way back to his own dorm room, feeling like he is more than ready to succumb to death with the way his head hurts. He sends Felix a text when he is halfway there, though he thinks it will be of little use to prevent him from walking in on naked people.

Whatever happens, happens.

At least he’s got one hell of a night to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i wonder to myself what are the limits for my insanity. the answer is probably none  
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/changminize) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/changminize)


End file.
